


Out in the Cold

by kenzieann27



Series: Covier Fics [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentioned Eddie Kaspbrak, Mentioned Maggie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Mentioned Stanley Uris, Not A Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24385582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: Richie visits his parents.
Series: Covier Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780261
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Out in the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I thought this would be a cool thing to write, but it's probably not the best thing I've written because it is so dialogue-heavy. Either way, enjoy!

"Hey, it's, uh… me. I wanted to come and say hi while I was here. I- I'm sorry. I know I wasn't the best, okay? I- I'm sorry that I couldn't… it's not your fault. Please at least believe that. I know you never believed anything I said, but please just believe that."

Richie didn't know what he was doing, sitting and leaning up against the side of the cold headstone in the middle of the small Derry cemetery on this cloudy day. Even if the forecast called for rain that would go on for what felt like hours (though not to Richie himself, who would spend those hours on a flight back to Chicago), even if the others are off waiting for him, he stayed in his spot, looking up at the trees and the small birds that occupied them.

"I thought it would be easier to say this stuff now, since- well, you can't exactly respond. I hope you're okay, wherever you ended up. I know it wasn't exactly… you were in pain, I know that," he pushed his glasses up into his hair that was beyond messy at that point, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe his eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, I- I'm so fucking sorry. For everything, really."

Richie sighed, looking down at the blurry, indistinguishable shapes that should be his hands, which were shaking slightly. "I- I feel so lost. It's stupid, I'm fucking… I'm forty years old and I feel lost. You were never lost, you- you always knew what to do. Or, well, you did your best. That's all anyone can hope for from their mothers, right?"

He shook his head, wiping at his eyes again as he refused to let the tears fall. Richie knew he was going to be the first to leave this place; at the same time, though, leaving became increasingly hard to do. So many people he cared about were still here, whether laughing and drinking back at the hotel or lying dead under the ground.

"I don't even know why you wanted to come back here, I- I know this is where you grew up and you're next to Dad and your parents and Aunt Rachel's here, too, and whatever, but… you had to know, right? You had to know how shitty this place was. And it's still a shitty place, like, I would be fine with never coming back here again. I _was_ fine with that, but… life, y'know? It takes more than it gives," he laughed, though it was an empty laugh, one devoid of all life and joy; a laugh that wasn't Richie's, not the Richie that first came to this town only a week ago. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Mom. I guess that… that after Dad died, I just wanted to be on my own. I shouldn't have moved all over the place, I- fuck, I should have been there. I shouldn't have left you all alone, I should have visited or something but I didn't. That's all I'm good at, I suppose. Just leaving people when I shouldn't."

Richie sighed, reaching his arm up once more to wipe his eyes, hesitating for a moment before dropping his arm back to its place in his lap. He nodded as the tears rolled down his cheeks, taking in a shaky breath as he continued, "Mom, I- I was the worst fucking kid in the world, and I know you just- you did your best, and I am so fucking grateful to have had you as my mom. I just hate what I did to you, all those years I was gone and I- it was never your fault. I hated who I was because I- I wanted to be the type of son that you deserved. And who I am just is not that son at all. I don't know why it's so fucking hard to just say it, you're not even here, I'm just… I get it, okay? I deserve it. You tried to talk to me, and I just always shut you out. I never talked to you about anything and- I want you to be here now and you're not. I want to tell you about everything, like… like how you were always scared for me? I just- Mom, I'm okay. Like, obviously not right now, but at home, like, I have a nice house and I love my job and stuff. With that stuff, I'm good, so you don't have to worry about that."

"It's funny, I- I even have someone that works for me. Well, he doesn't really see it that way. We're, like, fifty-fifty with everything, but, uh… you don't have to worry about that, either. I have someone looking out for me," shaking his head, Richie laughed. "God knows I need someone telling me what to say and what to wear. Plus, he's… Steve's a good guy. He's a complete dork and he's super weird about, like, stuff that doesn't really matter. But he's nice, he makes my life a whole lot easier, he makes sure the, like, business stuff is okay. So, uh, yeah. You- I mean, this applies to you, too, Dad. You guys don't need to worry about that stuff, I know you used to worry all the time about, like, having money and being stable and secure."

Richie didn't expect to talk to both of his parents that day; as a kid, it was a serious thing if you had to sit down and talk to both of your parents about something. In the Tozier house, serious family talks were about as existent as Richie's ability to see. They did happen on occasion, of course, like when they decided to move across the country to California or when Maggie's father had passed away and Richie (only seventeen years old) was left home alone for the first time while his parents attended the funeral in a place that Richie could not remember.

"I- I know I have to say it. It's the reason I came out here in the first place and bothered you guys, but I just… I haven't said the words out loud in, like, thirty years." Richie sighed, picking at the grass below him. "It was always easier for me to talk to Dad, so I- I will just trust that you'll tell Mom, okay? It's important, 'cause, uh… Dad, I- I'm gay." He laughed, mostly out of relief, focusing on the silence around him as the weight of the words hit him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you guys earlier, but I- I was a scared kid. And I grew up here, of all places, so… you know. It took me forty years to get to the point where I could deal with this, so I hope that you guys could give me a sign or whatever that you're not mad. And- and I don't want you to worry about it, please. Please just… I worry enough about it. Only four people really know, and- and three of those people are dead. But I trust Steve, I- I really do. He won't tell anyone or anything, he's known since, like, the day I first met that moron. So, please, just… it's okay, I think. If you do want to yell at someone about it, I guess you could send some snail mail over to Jewish Heaven and yell at Stan, since he's known for like… forever, I guess. You give that asshole lots of love from me, too, by the way. Tell him I miss him, even though he was a terrible kisser," he laughed. "Sorry, sorry. That's a story for another time, I guess."

He opened his mouth to continue, but hesitated, opting to sigh quietly instead. Richie didn't know what to expect, driving out here by himself on this cold autumn day. He had hoped for closure, to be able to say goodbye to the first people who really accepted him- well, the parts of him that he was comfortable sharing. Richie regretted not being there for them, not attending their funerals as he (too coincidentally, at the time, though now it made sense) was violently sick with the flu. Being there then felt somewhat comforting, and it wasn't too bad under the shade of the tree. Leaning his head against the headstone and teaching one hand up to pull his glasses back onto his face, he finally continued, though considerably quieter now.

"I just wanted you guys to be okay with who I am. Or- or at least, I wanted you to know. I don't have any idea how long it'll take me to be able to, like, tell the whole world. That scares me more than anything, just not being sure of what they'll think. I can't take it back; I can't apologize for that. I'd have to be so confident and so- so proud of who I am and I'm just not that guy. I'm okay with who I am, and I guess that's okay for now, right? I just want to be this person forever, 'cause I don't know what would happen if I changed. I'm fine with who I am, I don't need the world to know that part of me. It doesn't- it doesn't matter." Richie shook his head, "It'd be really nice if you gave me that sign right about now. I just- I need… help. I'm not good at this life stuff. Everyone I loved- they're gone, and I just don't know how to deal with that. I have a lot of people that love me, but they don't know me. There are fucking billions of people in the world and… and only one person knows who I am. And that's only because we work together, like, he's cared about me longer than I've cared about myself. I don't know why, either. I don't know why people like me, you know?"

"I- I don't mean that in a bad way, either. I know people care about me, it's just hard to really appreciate that when they only know the person that I let them see. I can't really complain about that, though, since it is my fault. It's- I'm scared, guys. The world is a shitty place for me, and I'm not really ready to just jump into all of… that. I don't know, it's just- I don't know," Richie sighed, frustrated at the lack of a response, the lack of comfort, the lack of anything.

"I- I guess you guys didn't really know, either. No one really knows what they're doing, that's… that's what makes life so much fun," he sniffed, using his sleeve once more to wipe his face. "You guys did the best you could with what you had, you had one God-awful kid who just could never _stop_. But I'm different, I don't really want- I don't have that life. Marriage and kids and that ugly-ass white picket fence. I can't have that stuff, but at the same time, I don't really want it, either. I have a weird life, it's very different than the life you guys had, you had like… like the normal American life. I travel a lot, I work a lot, I- I can't have a relationship when I'm not at home half the time. But it's my life. Even if it's scary, it's just the life I have, and I can't change that. I have to listen to you guys- for once- and just work with what I have, right?"

Richie stood up, dusting the dirt off the back of his pants. "I don't mean to leave so soon, but I have a flight to catch. It's… this has been good," he smiled, reaching down to brush the dirt off the front of the headstone. At the bottom, though, he noticed a small stone, one that had been most likely placed there by a stranger, as a few of the surrounding graves were decorated with similar stones.

Chuckling to himself, Richie picked up the smooth, flat rock, hesitating a moment before pocketing it. "When I asked for a sign, you know, I didn't think it'd come this quickly. Or this obvious, so I appreciate that."

Regretting the fact that he was practically stealing from a cemetery, Richie picked at the sleeve of his hoodie before unzipping it. "It's… it's pretty cold out here. And it's gonna rain soon, so I'm going to pull something out of the Maggie Tozier handbook and give you my jacket. Well, it's not exactly mine, it's- it's Eddie's. But it's got enough of my snot and tears on it to make it mine, and I've got an entire suitcase of his shit in my car, so I think I can part with one cheap gray hoodie," placing the hoodie around the headstone, he tied the sleeves together, making sure it wouldn't simply be blown away with any soft gust of wind.

"I- I want to say thank you, before I leave. I know you couldn't say anything, but thank you for listening. Thank you for just being there. Thank you for being my parents, 'cause I'm not sure if anyone else could have done what you guys were able to. You really were the best parents in the world, those coffee mugs and Christmas ornaments never lied about that," he laughed.

Standing up, Richie fished the rock out of his pocket before staring down at it. It was one of those rocks that people most likely bought at a gift shop or in the weird section of a pharmacy that, for some reason, contained souvenirs; it was one of those rocks that was etched with some cheesy motivational word on it, this one simply engraved with the word _love_. It was fitting, and also most likely coincidental, as the rocks on the other graves were more faith-based (though Richie wouldn't exactly admit his lack of belief in any religion, he was okay with admitting that there was probably something more out there). Richie would keep that small rock for decades in his kitchen, situated right on the windowsill above the kitchen sink; he would later move it to his desk, simply because he spent more time at his desk than at the sink.

For now, though, as he stood in this small and somewhat poorly-kept cemetery, Richie did feel a bit regretful of his decision to leave. Not that he planned to stay, God no, but he regretted being the first to leave, no matter how eager he was to return home and live his life with an entirely new outlook on who he was and what he thought of his life as a whole.

That, and, of course, there was a certain manager of his that he was excited to see again.

"I wish I could stay, really," Richie said, for the first time looking at the headstone instead of past it. "I want to talk about so much, like, _everything_ , but- but I have this rock now, so that's like having you guys with me. I'm not entirely sure how the whole talking to dead people thing works, but hopefully, if they're cool with it, God can let me have some long-distance conversations with you guys. I did pretty much save the world last week, so, you know, I think I at least deserve that. I love you guys, even if what I said is- is a lot. I'm ready to go home and forget all this shit, but please just know that I love you, 'cause I know you love me. Even if you don't love, like, everything about me. It's like… I know people love the basic version of me, the Richie that everyone can see. It's just hard since no one can really afford the premium version of Richie, at least not right now. But that's- that's okay. I'm okay with that. I have a lot of stuff to learn and things to do, but I'm only forty. I'm old, but I'm still here. I- I have time. I have so much time to be able to figure out that shit. And I will, I promise- if you're going to believe anything I've said, please just believe that. You guys made me who I am, and I'm not about to say that any of it was for nothing, even if it scares me. I'm me for a reason, and I don't know that reason, but I do know me, and me is pretty fucking cool."

Smiling, not entirely to himself, Richie turned, walking slowly back to his car. On the way back, of course, it would begin to rain, but Richie would still call it a beautiful day nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does pair with my Richie and Steve ask blog on tumblr, so feel free to go say hello to them! @ask-covier
> 
> Or, you know, say hello to me over on my main blog as well! @kenzie-ann27


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